


they will call you faithless

by SearchingforSerendipity



Category: The Wolverine (2013), Wolverine (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:56:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingforSerendipity/pseuds/SearchingforSerendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The claw in your hand drips blood, yours and Logan's and Yashida's, a shade darker than your hair. It cuts into your skin as you get in, as you power the suit, as you scream. It bleeds you, until it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they will call you faithless

 

  
You see it in a moment, fast as lightning: the whisper of iron on flesh, Mariko's dark hair a fan over grey metal. It will be a quick death, but not painless. Before, all you had seen was her in the ground, hair spread out like in sleep. This is what you had whispered to her, a child bought as a child's pet. You are older and slicing a man's arm off when the vision comes to you again. It does not look like sleep anymore. 

You run to her. You find her. Lying side by side to Harada, they almost look like lovers, a married couple entwined in red and black. She does not answer you begging, as you know she wouldn't. 

You are not there when Master Yashida, more metal than man but young, so young, rips off Logan's heart. You come in at the very last moment, like in an American movie, to watch him spasm against the chair's hold and then twitch to stillness. 

The heart falls down with a wet noise and you, a demon and a visionary and a pet, you kill your master. 

The old man parries you blow by blow and more, his body that of a metallic nightmare, his words like the knives he had once gifted his granddaughter with. He throws you around like a puppet and it hurts, all of you hurts. 

But you are young and fond of computers, sciences faster than thought. You know how to pull off a plug, what the most important parts of a hardware are. When the sword rolls out of your hand, you pick up a bloody claw and limp your self up, keep fighting. The robot fizzles, limbs and head torn from body. The men that was your honored master, cheeks fatter than yours were as a child, flies out of the samurai suit wheezing, until he doesn't. 

You win. Your sword, which was never yours, which will only ever be yours, sticks out like a parasite form the metal monster. You pull it back, reclaim it. The suit has been rendered from the better part of itself, but its guts still glow. The claw in your hand drips blood, yours and Logan's and Yashida's, a shade darker than your hair. It cuts into your skin as you get in, as you power the suit, as you scream. It bleeds you, until it doesn't. 

They will call you The Ronin, and you too shall be a peerless monster-warrior. All you ever saw was death, death, death. Not your own, thought. Now you know why. 

 

 


End file.
